


Play Your Games

by uumuu



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Body Paint, F/F, Pervertibles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 08:15:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7883563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aredhel and Curufin's wife while away a hot summer afternoon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Play Your Games

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the Pervertibles square in my second Season of Kink card.

“Do all these scribbles have a point?” Héruminyë asks, straining her eyes to look down at whatever Aredhel is painting on her body.

Aredhel lifts the brush from Héruminyë's chest, dips it in paint and resumes, comfortably settled between her friend's legs. 

“The Tatyar used them for protection, believing that round, elaborate patterns, or just spirals and coils would ward off evil, and as a sign of belonging. Now they're a memory of our long-lost kin, a symbol of enduring affection and intimacy. They're pretty too.” She meets Héruminyë's eyes, and the unspoken part of her reply flashes cheekily between their gazes. Painting Héruminyë's body is a way as good as any to while away a languid afternoon in the sweltering heat of Tirion during the season when Laurelin is at its brightest, and also an excuse to have Héruminyë naked in the bed Aredhel has had moved to her balcony, in the fragrant shade of lush overhanging vines and light curtains. 

“What reason is there to fret?”

Aredhel dips the brush in paint again and traces one more long snake-like curl on Héruminyë's chest, right below the mound of her left breast. Then she drags it up the generous swell and circles the nipple with a spiral, swirling the brush deftly to end on the tip of the dark nub. The nipple hardens, and goosebumps cover the skin of Héruminyë arms. Quite pleased with that reaction, Aredhel transfers the brush below Héruminyë's bellybutton, and swings it messily from side to side below her waistline. 

“Írissë!” Héruminyë cries, starting at the quick, repeated sweeps that tickle her skin. “Those _aren't_ pretty to look at!”

Aredhel shrugs. “Nobody will see them...except Curvo I guess. I don't think he'll mind. You can always blame the mess on me.”

The brush soon runs out of paint, but Aredhel trails it lower to tickle Héruminyë's neatly trimmed pubes. She looks contemplative as she does so, but after a while the corners of her mouth pull up in a smile. She casts a glance at the canvas bag lying next to her, reaches for a clean brush, and without a moment's delay swings it over Héruminyë's clit.

“Írissë!” Héruminyë cries out again in protest, causing the birds that had been chirping on the vines to fly away in fright, but her voice breaks into a groan as the silky tip of the brush works its slick wonder on her sex.

Aredhel moves the brush in a circle and up and down. Héruminyë hisses and squirms, but in spite of that she never actually tries to stop her, so Aredhel trails the brush further down, skidding the line of tiny rings artfully pierced into Héruminyë's outer lips, and caresses the inside of her thighs. Héruminyë bucks and tries to squeeze her muscled dancer legs shut, but all she accomplishes is to hug Aredhel's own legs in a tight grip, and she can only dig her feet in the soft mattress to prevent herself from shaking. 

The brush flutters over her asshole on its way back up and Aredhel gets the tip wet with moisture from her opening before focusing on her clit again, stroking it without a moment's respite, the soft long filaments wrapping all around the tiny nub and tickling it.

“Írissë,” Héruminyë calls, giving Aredhel a rapturous look which softens her haughty features and plays her beauty up in a way Aredhel loves. 

Aredhel smiles. She turns the brush in her hand, and dips the handle inside her once and twice. Héruminyë moans, the smooth wood teasing her, cool her opening, and the rings and studs that decorate her quim tinkle softly at her jolts. 

Aredhel takes the brush out and brings it to her mouth. 

“I love your taste,” she purrs, licking the wooden shaft clean of Héruminyë's generous pearly coating. Then she drools over it and returns it between Héruminyë's legs, but lodges the tip against her asshole. The brush starts slim enough that it slides it with no difficulty, but widens towards the tip to cause a noticeable, pleasurable, stretch. Aredhel pushes it in until it is at its widest, then starts moving it in and out of her friend. At the same time, she takes another brush and uses it to fondle her clit again.

Héruminyë's face crumples, her forehead creases and her eyelids fall shut over her grey-blue eyes. She moves against the brushes, uncontrolled whimpers rippling through her painted body while trickles of sweat roll down between her breasts, until she comes, her body arching off the bed. 

Aredhel doesn't stop pleasuring her, dragging her orgasm out until Héruminyë almost screams. 

“You were right, you know,” she says, as soon as Héruminyë's half-lidded gaze focuses on her again. “I think I've found a better use for these tools.” 

Héruminyë takes a deep breath and snorts. “It was quite...entertaining, yes, but nothing you couldn't have achieved with your bare hands.”

She sits up before Aredhel can reply, and disentangles herself from her. Standing up, she circles the bed makes her way to the large body mirror which stand to one side of the open windows. Aredhel drops the brushes and follows her. She wraps her arms around Héruminyë's chest, just below her breasts, and nuzzles her neck, looking at her in the mirror. The light filtering through the curtains washes down the right side of her body, making her sweaty skin glisten.

“I want to take a bath,” Héruminyë says, tracing the messy brush strokes on her belly.

Aredhel pouts. “But my work will be washed away.”

“It's already smudged as is,” Héruminyë says, “but well...let's say that if you manage to tire me out in the bathtub I will let you paint my whole body anew afterwards.”

“Whole?” Aredhel echoes, perking up, and drops a wet kiss to the side of Héruminyë's neck. “Even your neck and hands and all the other bits not hidden by your dress?”

“All of me,” Héruminyë confirms, her words a low, sultry whisper.

A predatory grin gleams in Aredhel's pale grey eyes. “You promised.”


End file.
